The Ebbinghaus Seduction
by Misophonia
Summary: Amy is determined to increase Sheldon's feelings for her. Sheldon is equally determined to remain immune to Amy's psychological games. Unfortunately, when his intriguing girlfriend shows up at his apartment one evening dressed strangely, he finds his once-iron determination crumbling around him.


**A/N: This is a one-shot based off the episode from a while back when Shamy decided to play doctor—_Star Trek_ style. I'm writing it because I was dared to and because I have always been curious what happened before and after the little snippet that we were allowed to see. As always, this is in no way connected to anything I have written or am currently writing. **

**Also, I don't own _The Big Bang Theory_. If I did, we would have had some Sheldon-initiated action last season.**

* * *

**The Ebbinghaus Seduction**

There were few times in Sheldon Cooper's life when he was truly afraid. After all, what was the point? In spite of being raised by an authoritative, religious zealot of a mother, he'd managed to remain confidently agnostic. He'd endured the torture of moronic bullies during his formative years for his supreme intelligence and still succeeded in achieving his dream of being a highly-regarded particle physicist. And, most of all, he'd endured a bus-ride home being forced to sit next to a screaming toddler he was more than sure had been infected with anthrax and come away surprisingly toxin-free. Yes, he had survived each trial and come out on top. Therefore, fear was illogical. Nothing could test his patience and sanity as bad as those things had.

Or so he believed. Yet, the second he heard the knock on the door of his apartment, a slight shiver of trepidation crept up his back. He knew who it was and, worse, he knew what she wanted. His stomach clenched as he made his way to the door and swung it open to reveal his visitor. Then, Sheldon could honestly say he was terrified. After all, his carefully ordered and comfortably structured life was threatening to implode like an unstable black hole and all because of one person.

Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler.

"Hello, Sheldon," she said, stepping around him to come inside. She sat her purse on the coffee table and turned to gaze at him.

Ignoring her face because it only made his stomach feel worse, his eyes zeroed in on what she was wearing. A long, black trench coat covered her from collar to ankle, buttoned to the neck and cinched tightly at her curvy waist.

He frowned. "Amy, it's warm out. Why are you wearing that?"

She smiled widely, and he found himself unwillingly staring at her face. The cramping in his stomach grew worse and morphed into a dizzying, swirly sensation. He might not usually be able to read facial expressions in order to attribute meaning to them, but he knew that particular expression. It was the one Amy wore when she'd managed to outmaneuver him in some way. He hated that smile, but, at the same time, it unleashed an unfamiliar urge within him—the need to answer the blatant challenge in her eyes with a challenge of his own. It was one of the most intriguing aspects of this womanly creature before him.

He shut the apartment door and stood against it, warily waiting.

"Why am I wearing this?" she repeated. "I'm glad you asked." Her hands moved to the black belt of the coat. "Allow me to show you."

She released the tie with a brilliant flourish worthy of a model on a game show.

_What if she's naked under there?_ This wicked thought had Sheldon collapsing against the door, in full panic. It wasn't an illogical assumption. After all, Amy had spent the last week doing trying to increase his feelings for her. Everything from his favorite meal to his favorite video game music to his favorite things in the world—trains— became weapons the little vixen used to unleash psychological warfare on his emotional well-being. It wasn't too outside the realm of consciousness that she would come here intent on attacking his endocrine system as well.

Her petite fingers went to work on the top buttons, releasing them one by one until the white skin from her chin to the hollow of her neck was visible. She didn't stop there.

_Jesus_. It was all he could do to grip the door knob for support. He should say something, stop her before she went too far, before _he_ went too far.

_Me? I'm not doing anything_, he mentally corrected. _I don't care how she's bastardized Ebbinghaus' work to achieve her own lascivious ends or what plan she's concocted. I'm not now nor will I ever be anyone's … lover._ He closed his eyes, barely able to think that last word. He was a man of science. He was above falling for seduction.

Wasn't he?

"Sheldon."

Her voice was as sweet and smooth and beautiful as the Standard Model theory. He wanted to resist her, but curiosity and something else he couldn't name had him heeding her call. His eyes flew open. And, suddenly, shock eclipsed any fear he had.

There she was, shedding the coat, and wearing the most fascinating outfit he'd ever seen. His gaze roved over her, unable to believe the picture before him. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face in a low pony tail, her usual clip used to pull one section of her hair to the side. The short, blue tunic dress she wore had an all too familiar insignia emblazoned across the lapel. He looked and looked and looked, taking in a new detail each time. The way the dress tightened at her waist, the long-sleeved bodice, the gold embroidering along the sleeves cupping her wrists like bracelets, and the flouncy skirt too short to ever be worn in public. Her long, long legs—_When did they ever get that long?—_encased in black stockings and the most enchanting pair of black leather knee boots he'd ever seen.

It was Amy … as Nurse Chapel from the original series _Star Trek_.

"Amy … what … how … I don't understand."

She grinned at him again. The grin that he knew now would always be the key to his undoing. Then, with a wink that brought uncomfortable twinges in his groin region, she said, "I propose we play doctor—_Star Trek _style. What do you think?"

He opened his mouth to deny her. After all, he wasn't so obtuse that he didn't know what the phrase "playing doctor" was a euphemism for. He had been in elementary school once. The next thing she'd want would be a kiss by the swings or for him to disappear with her behind a tree or some other such nonsense.

Not happening. He was a physicist. He was a _homo novus_. He was—

She did a little whirl and turned to give him a view from her rear. The movement caused the skirt of her dress to flounce up becomingly and gave him a glimpse of her rounded backside. Looking over her shoulder at his, she raised an eyebrow in question. "Well?"

"All right," he heard himself say.

"Great," she said, picking up her bag to dig through it. "Lie down on the couch."

It was like he stopped having control over his body. Before he could even form a thought or protest, he'd willingly draped himself on the couch, arms aligned to his sides, and waited for her next command. She was still bent over slightly, searching for something in her purse. He used the time to memorize her rear.

_Has it always been like that? So plump and full and—What would it feel like against my hand? Soft or firm and—Great Scott! What am I thinking? I've turned into a pervert!_ His mind was a battlefield where common decency warred with old-fashioned male interest. Sheldon wasn't sure how to deal with this. He only knew he was experiencing it.

_What has that vixen done to me?_ He'd asked the question many times, of course, but was no closer to an answer now than earlier in the week when he'd been complaining to Leonard. He thought about employing Kohlinar, but this only reminded him of Spock, which reminded him of Nurse Chapel, which reminded him of the comely temptress in front of him.

_No doubt, her plan all along_, he seethed.

She flipped around, and he saw she was wearing a medical tricorder on a strap around her neck. Without warning, she began waving the little, handheld scanner over his body. Never taking his eyes off her as she slowly edged her way down his prone form, he couldn't help the excitement building within him. Even the little, whirling sound coming from the fake equipment gave him goosebumps.

Amy never touched him as she continued her checkup, but he seemed to want her to. Every hair on his body seemed to be standing on end, as if waiting for her fingertips. But Amy never broke character. Just like the real Nurse Chapel, she kept her attention firmly on the tricorder as she made it all the way up his legs, passed his pelvis and up his torso. Sheldon pressed his hands against the sides of his legs, trying to keep himself calm, but failing miserably.

This was the most fun he'd had since the time he'd once balanced an equation blindfolded. But, likewise, it was a hellish torture far worse than any childhood bully could have ever devised. Was she going to touch him? Perhaps brush her palm over his forehead or accidentally run the back of hand against his arm? Every muscle in his tall frame tensed, anxiously wanting and wondering and waiting.

Not only was his enjoyment of this strange, but there was also the fact that he had failed to tell her she was wearing the tricorder upside down. Sheldon simply didn't care about so trivial a matter. He just knew he wanted to run away and yet never move from this spot.

It was only when she paused and looked up that he realized Leonard was home.

"Hello, Leonard," Amy said.

Slight tingles of frustration began welling within Sheldon. Did this mean she was going to stop? Disappointment followed as well as confusion. Didn't he want her to stop? He'd thought so, but now he wasn't sure.

"What are you doing?" Leonard asked from the open doorway.

"We're playing doctor," she answered with the grin he'd grown to love so much, "_Star Trek_ style."

Sheldon finally looked over at his friend, unsure if he was a lifeline or a hindrance. "I'm in hell, Leonard." Then, when Amy regarded him with a slightly uncertain expression, he relaxed his head back against the arm of the couch and ordered, "Don't stop."

Amy glanced back at Leonard one more time before continuing her ministrations. Sheldon wasn't sure how much longer Leonard remained watching them. He only knew that, at some point, he heard the door close and knew they were alone again.

She reached his face, waved the wand scanner over his forehead, and frowned at the tricorder readings. Then, just when he thought she would put it all away and announce this intriguing new game at an end, he blurted out, "They used salt shakers to make the medical instruments on the original _Star Trek_ series." Anything to get her to not cease her examination.

She shot a glance at him. "Shhh," she said, looking back to the tricorder. "This reading appears to be slightly off."

"Perhaps you should do a physical examination?" he offered.

Her eyes flitted back to his, and Sheldon wasn't sure who was more surprised by what he'd said—him or her.

"OK," she said, pulling the cord to the tricorder from around her neck and placing the equipment on the coffee table. He got another glimpse of her bottom before she turned back to him. She started at his ankles, skimming her fingers along the tops of his legs. He shivered at the light contact, unable to believe how much he was relishing this. Finally, her fingers ran along the bone of his hip and came to creep along his stomach.

Pressing two fingers slightly inward, she palpitated the area a moment before moving upward along his chest. Sheldon felt as taut as a too-tight bow string. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if she didn't stop touching him. He also thought he might die if she did.

Her index finger circled an erect male nipple—causing him to shiver—before her entire hand rested over his heart. No doubt, she felt it racing beneath the heel of her palm. He couldn't help reaching out, enclosing his fingers over hers. She gasped, and they locked eyes on each other.

Lacing their fingers together, he wasn't going to let her go. In response, she leaned down close to him until her face was mere millimeters from his own. Her lips were a kiss away from his. Her breath, which smelled faintly of spearmint, puffed gently over his cheeks.

"Sheldon?" she asked, her eyes darting down to his lips.

"Yes?" he said, wanting her to kiss him and, yet, afraid of what might happen if she did.

Her gaze came back to meet his. Her grin—_my grin_, he thought—splayed across her features again.

"You can get up."

He frowned. "Huh?"

She zipped back to her full height, the grin widening on her mouth. "You're perfectly healthy. I'm all done." Then, without another word, she turned from him and started packing up her equipment with a ruthless efficiency.

"B-bu-but," he stuttered, swinging his long frame around until he was sitting up on the couch. "Are you sure you properly finished your examination? Leonard did interrupt us."

"It's fine," she said, picking up the trench coat and shrugging it on. When every button was buttoned and the belt was once again tightened around her waist, she slung her purse over her arm and headed for the door. "Good night, Sheldon."

"Where are you going? Don't you want tea or something?"

"No, thank you. I got what I needed," she said, giving him a devilish wink. "I'll see you on our next date night."

"That's nearly a month away," he complained. "Can't I see you sooner than that?"

"When, do you propose?"

His frantic brain scrambled to find an answer. "Tomorrow? It's vintage video game night, but I can blow it off. The guys were wanting to play Pong anyway. I'll come over to your apartment, and we can play doctor again. Please?" He gave her a grin of his own to induce her. "I'll dress as Mr. Spock."

She gave a little laugh. "All right. 7 pm?"

"Yes," he agreed.

"See you then," she said. Then, all too soon, she was gone.

Sheldon collapsed against the sofa, unable to think or move. It took a good twenty minutes before he could calm down or begin to feel at all like his usual self. It took an additional ten minutes to realize fully what he'd done. _No_, he mentally corrected, _what that devious little vixen made me do by exploiting my love of _Star Trek_._

Great. He just volunteered to make an unscheduled extra date with Amy Farrah Fowler. Volunteered? They had a relationship agreement for a reason, and here he went throwing it all away. Worse, they were going to play doctor again, and Lord only knew what she'd be beguiling him into tomorrow night. What was next? Long walks on the beach, sharing a straw, kissing? He shuddered, thinking how close he'd been to doing just that tonight.

Then again, remembering the dress, the tricorder, and the almost feather-like touches of her fingers on his body, he was ready to admit that the possibility of kissing her wasn't altogether bad.

It took him another full minute to realize what he'd just thought as well as the ramifications behind it. The fear came a few seconds after that.

"Uh oh!"

* * *

**A/N: Just in case you were curious, the bit about the salt shakers is true. Two of the nine instruments Dr. McCoy used on the original television show were actually salt and pepper shakers. Hope you enjoyed this one-shot. Leave a review, and let me know what you think.**


End file.
